


Even in a Book of Lies, Sometimes You Find Truth.

by a-cumberbatch-of-cookies (tishy19)



Category: BioShock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BioLock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/pseuds/a-cumberbatch-of-cookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson enters the city of Rapture unaware of the hidden dangers and horrors awaiting him, but there is also one person in Rapture that has been waiting for his arrival for a very, very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In 1945 the first of the chosen arrived; shuttled down deep below the rolling waves, through the blackest black and coldest cold, they sank. The reasons for their departure from the surface were many; some had come for freedom from persecution, others to seek their fame and fortune, and still some just for the adventure. Even with the range of their desires, these people did all have one thing in common: they all had faith in one idea, one man, and in that they would all share responsibility in their own demise.

\-----------------

The harsh waves of the Atlantic rolled and crashed over John. Taking large gasping breaths, he tried again to clear his vision, but the minute he had another wave poured over him. Thankfully he could still see the blinking lights through the dark night. It was only a dozen or so more meters, John could make it. His shoulders burned from the strain, but he kept his strokes long, arms cutting through the icy water. The burning wreckage of the plane floated around him, fire leaping up into the night sky. As he drew closer to a piece of the wreckage, he saw what looked to be one of the seats from the cabin aflame; the heat radiating from the blaze warmed the side of his face.

The source of the lights and his destination, a large lighthouse on a small island, drew ever closer. The oscillating light blinking in and out of view ever few second drew him in like a moth to a candle. John had been lucky, damn lucky. Not only did he somehow survive the plane's deadly crash into the ocean, but going down so close to the island would be his salvation.

After what felt like an eternity, John's hand finally fell onto the bottom step of stairs leading up to the lighthouse. John couldn't help the relieved laugh that bubbled to the surface. He climbed up out of the water and over a few steps before collapsing in exhausting.

Closing his eyes and trying to calm his erratic breathing, John listened to the continued crackle and snap of the fires that were still burning and the angry crash of the ocean against the stone steps. As his body began to relax, the adrenaline finally wearing off, the agony of his injuries came rushing on to him in full force. The normally manageable ache in his left shoulder screamed at him, his whole arm now numb from the crash and the strain of swimming to the island. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the rhythmic pulses made his head feel as if it was being squeezed over and over in a vice. A large gash on his leg was still bleeding. But those pains quickly faded away as the bone-numbing cold of the Atlantic air set upon his wet clothes. John's whole body began to shiver violently. He gingerly wrapped his arms around his torso trying to hold in as much body heat as possible to no eval. His shivering grew worse, his teeth starting to chatter loudly.

He needed to get inside and dry as soon as possible. With a long, low groan, John pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, taking a few deep breaths until a small wave of dizziness subsided. Finally crawling to his feet John took a moment and looked up the stone stairs towards the lighthouse. The tower loomed over him, it's walls stretching high above him, cold and bare.

John wrapped his arms around himself again and started slowly up the stone stairs. Small lanterns were placed on the short wall to his right, lighting up the steps. He winced with his first few steps, his injured leg sparking with pain. He'd have to bandage it soon, though the flow of blood had slowed while he rested the wound began to bleed again as he limped up the stairs.

As he turned the last corner, John saw the large metal doors of the lighthouse. Flanked by lanterns, the bronze doors were detailed with the figure of a man, reaching above himself to grasp at a large sphere. Looking higher, John saw a large circular embellishment with the letter 'R' at its center.

Grasping the door's handle firming, John gave a strong tug. With a groan, it slowly swung open, the small amount of light from the lanterns spreading in a line across the floor. The rest of the room remained darkened as John slipped inside. Just as he turned to open the other door to let in even more light, the second door slammed shut and a loud clinking noise caused John's stomach to drop. He blindly felt along the door's surface until he found the handle and pulled frantically. It wouldn't budge.

The sudden noise of a recorder player gearing up, followed by soft music filled the room as lanterns on the walls flickered a few times and then fully blazed to life. John turned and took in his surroundings. He stood in a large, rounded antechamber. The walls were decorated in the same fashion as the main doors he'd just passed through. Large plaques of bronze depicting churning and crashing waves littered the walls.

In the center of the room is a large bronzed bust of a man, his face stern, eyebrows knitted together in anger. Hanging just below the bust is a red banner with golden letters.

**NO GODS OR KINGS. ONLY MAN.**

Taking a few tentative steps, John found a small plaque on the railing below the bust.

_Is there a country for men like me? - Mycroft Holmes_

Still shivering, John moved around the central display and found a set of stairs leading down. The wet sound of his boots squeaked loudly over the music. The stairs curved behind the large pillar in the center of the room and as John made the last bit of the turn, he came upon a large sphere gently bobbing in the ocean water that surge up through a hole in the floor. A large rounded door swung out from the sphere, showing John it's interior of a dark red bench that lined the inner wall and a large golden lever in the center. To the side was a sign that declared in large bold letters "BATHYSPHERE INSTRUCTIONS."

Looking around, John noticed there are no other doors or passageways from the room. This bathysphere seems to be his only option for shelter and warm. John took a large steadying breath and climbed into the bathysphere, pulling the hatch door firmly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John enters Rapture and meets some of the great city's citizens. Ya know, the crazy ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha oh man. Let's all just pretend I so didn't wait around for 8 million years before posting chapter 2. That cool with everyone? Awesome.

The hiss of the bathysphere's door opening echoed through the deserted lobby. John's head was still reeling from his descent to the bottom of the ocean.

As the sphere drifted through the frigid waters of the Atlantic, an audio recording had burst to life. Wide eyes peered through the porthole of the craft as a smooth and confident voice, that announced itself as Mycroft Holmes, praised the city of Rapture. - _"A city where the artist would not fear the censor; where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality; where the great would not be constrained by the small. And, with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."_ \- And just as Holmes ended his speech, the bathysphere passed by a large underwater mountain ridge and the bright lights of a sprawling city came into view. John couldn't stop his gasp, hand lifted to his mouth in shock. Curling glass walkways connected the different districts of Rapture, while bright neon signs and billboards clung to the sides of towering skyscrapers. The moment became even more surreal as a large, moaning whale slowly floated between two buildings, a school of fish following in its wake.

Now, the crack of the bathysphere's door let in a small stream of fresh air while John sat hunched over on one of the sphere's benches, head in his hands. The tense feeling of vertigo that had struck him while the bathysphere made its final descent churned his stomach and muddied his mind.

This wasn't real. None of this could be real. Cities couldn't survive underwater. Humans aren't made for it.

The more his thoughts spun out of control, the quicker John's breaths came. He could feel the panic building, finally achieving a great crescendo as his vision began to darken.

He'd died. That must be it. The plane crashed into the Atlantic and John had sunk with it, doomed to an icy grave miles below the surface, and this, all of this is some kind of afterlife; a hellish realm like purgatory meant to torture those who had sinned in life.

But it all felt so real. The freezing ocean, the flames of the wreckage, the steps of the lighthouse. Even this, the most unbelievable of them all, the bathysphere felt solid under him.

John lifted his head wearily and glanced at the door.

What was he going to find out there, in this city under the sea? A world lifted from his worst nightmares or the key to his survival?

With a deep breath, John stood. There was no way around it; he had to step through that door, no matter what was on the other side.

John first few tentative steps away from the sphere were a bit wobbly, his legs not fully cooperating as his eyes stared out the large glass window across from him. Soft, distilled light streamed into the shadowy lobby from a sign on an adjacent building. The faded light illuminated a small portion of the lobby, showing a few benches and trash cans scattered about. In the middle of the room a large section of the ceiling had crumbled away, giving John a look at the higher level of the building. Large, white pillars were spaced out over the large room, some covered with large posters with the names "Moriarty," "Holmes," and "Brooks" printed upon them.

John could only see one exit from the room, a large opening to his right that had a large banner across the top, exclaiming the Medical Pavilion awaited him next door.

Giving a last quick look around, John turned and headed towards the exit. His arms were wrapped around him, hands rubbing vigorously on his upper arms, trying to bring some warmth to his cold and tired limbs. The shivering had abated slightly, but water still dripped from his hair and clothes. His eyes were darting around the dimly lit room, so he was surprised to hear the loud clank as he accidentally kicked something heavy on the ground. 

A slim, lead pipe was rolling away from him, coming to a stop a few feet away. John moved forward and stooped down to pick it up. The cold metal rod was heavy in his hand. Passing it from one hand to another, John noticed small brown flecks now peppered his hand. He assumed it to be rust, but as he brought his hand closer to his face, the sharp coppery smell of blood was overwhelming. 

_"I told ya, I 'eard somethin'!"_

John gasped at the loud echo that drifted into the lobby and almost dropped the pipe, gripping it tight at the last second. He glanced towards the exit but no one was there – yet. To his right stood a tall pillar, a heap of broken couches, and trashcans offering more cover to hide behind.

John hesitated for a moment, torn between calling out for help or retreating to safety.

 _“If you walk us into another of them Big Daddies, I’ll cut you meself_ , _”_ a different voice growled.

Definitely retreat.

John scurried to the pillar, ducking behind the pile of rubble and trash just as three figures exited the hallway into the lobby. He could hear the crazed laughter of one of the strangers. The shrill cackle echoed throughout the lobby.

“Oi, whadda know? The runt was right,” one of the men said. The sound of his voice drew closer and closer to John with each step.

John tried to control his breathing, keeping his heavy breaths silent as he clutched the pipe tightly in his hands.

“This ‘sphere weren’t here earlier,” the voice continued, a gruff rasping that set John’s nerves on edge. “Something snuck it’s way right into Rapture, the spineless little fucker.”

John chanced a quick glance around the edge of the column. He spotted three men, all now standing around the darkened bathysphere as it bobbed in the water.

One of the men, the smallest of the trio, was hunched over, feet planted wide and knees bent. He held a sickle-like weapon in one hand, the blade practically dragging on the ground. He wore tattered clothing; stained with dark splotches that John was horrified to realize must be blood.

The second man stood between the others, and wore a broken mask with large bunny ears rising above and the lower half was missing to show his bloodied mouth. Like John, he also held a large pipe, though the blood on the man’s pipe was still fresh and was splattered all up his arm and torso.

The third man was tall and thin, and wore a mask as well, though his seemed to be some type of bird. A large beak extended from his face and the white porcelain was covered in blood. He looked as if he’d just stepped away from a fancy dress party, wearing black slacks, a white button up and braces. He also carried a weapon, a large wrench hung at his side.

"I say we hunt down this new little fish," the hunched-man giggled, "string 'em up, gut 'em and watch 'em bleed!"

"Waddya say, stretch?" questioned the gruff voice, which belonged to the man in the middle, the obvious leader of the group. "Wanna roll out a bloody welcome banner to our new friend?"

The tall man only replied with a low, rumbling chuckle, which set off the other two.

"OLLIE OLLIE OXEN-FREE!" the runt suddenly shout, causing John to jump and press back firmer against the pillar.

"Split up," the leader commanded. "First to find 'em gets to pop ‘em."

This set off another loud cackle from the smallest and John shuddered. He'd have to make a break for it. He peeked around the edge of the column and spied the large hall that would lead him to the Medical Pavilion. He saw the three men split up, two heading down the hall John needed and the third, which happened to be the ‘runt’, sticking around, obviously intent on searching the lobby.

John watched him slowly draw nearer. If he was lucky, he'd continue forward and pass right by John, a large section of the collapsed ceiling created a suitable barrier between them.

John held his breath, his heart hammering in his ears. The stranger's shoes squeaked on the marble floor and he continued to call out, _"Here little fish, little fish, nice and crisp..."_

Just as the runt’s head appeared on the other side of the debris, John slid around his column as silently as he could. He had to hold back from sighing with relief when the archway leading to the Medical Pavilion came into his view.

The small man still had to walk to the other end of the lobby before John could make a mad dash across the well-lite area under the blazing neon sign. He chanced a glance back to where the other man lurked, and then clenching his pipe tightly, John sprinted across the marble floor, staying low.

His body tensed. He kept expecting any minute he'd hear a shout, any minute now that cackle would ring through the lobby, _"Little fish, little fish, where do you swim?"_

The second John made it to the archway; he ducked behind the ledge and out of view if the man were to turn now.

John finally let out a shuddering breath, legs and arms going to jelly as his adrenaline waned. But the relief was short lived as he remembered he’d only passed the first of three hostiles, there were still two more men to get by and John didn’t know where they’d gone.

A bright flashing light drew his attention down the corridor, a cheery mechanical voice in the distance calling out. John continued to slink down the hallway, keeping himself low and pressed tight to the wall, eyes constantly on the move.

**Author's Note:**

> 'ello! So, yeah, this might update at a snail's pace but if that's cool with you, feel free to stick around.


End file.
